


Lessons

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Obedience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is reckless, Castiel makes him stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons

Dean is reckless, reckless and careless and impossible. Again and again. Never learning how important, but how fragile, how _breakable_ he is. The bright marks on his face and arms, the wet tears in the leather of his jacket that so closely resemble those in flesh. He will laugh them all off. Bleeding amusement and adrenaline when he manages not to bleed at all.

And Castiel cannot stop him. No matter how fiercely he cautions, how hard he protests. How much he needs Dean to be careful. How afraid he is sometimes.

There's still that recklessness, that careless disregard for his own mortality.

Dean has never been good at listening to words.

Instead, he buries his relief in this. In the messy, beautiful, human capacity to desire a hundred different ways. Castiel's worries and protests will drown in the taste of his skin, and the feel of his hands opening and hollowing Castiel out and filling him up with nothing but him, over and over. Until there is nothing but the warmth, and the relief and the love. But no lesson. There is never a lesson.

Castiel lets Dean shove gracelessly at the length of his coat, lets him dig his fingers into his hair and tug him in fierce, blind steps towards the bed.

They fall untidily, hard knees and sharp fingers and Dean ends up sprawled under Castiel. The warmth of his laughing mouth pressing up against his own, again and again. While his hands drops and pull, untidy and greedy and always, always, so desperate at Castiel's slacks.

"No," Castiel catches Dean's hands and eases them away, move them up over his head, fingers tight round his wrists, tight enough to tell him that he will not be denied in this. He presses them down in the softness of the pillow. "No."

He shoves at Dean's leg with his own knee, makes a space between them and settles there, pressing where Dean is just as hard as he is. Twin sets of desire, balanced on the edge. He shifts his hips, finds the ache and presses down into it.

"You have to stop," he says fiercely.

Dean grunts out a breath, soft and surprised, a word broken in the middle. His head tips back, mouth opening, eyes closing briefly under the roll of sensation.

"Cas."

Dean pushes with his legs, hands spreading open and catching at Castiel's knuckles. Trying to touch him.

"I cannot watch you break, over and over. I will not," Castiel says. It's firm and low and torn to pieces. He puts a little more of his weight down. Makes every push heavy and intent and purposeful.

Dean gasps and stills, opens his legs wider.

"Fuck."

Dean will be still for what Castiel wants this time. He will stay where he's put for this slow, steady build of desire that's all edges and desperation and demand. Or plea, desperate plea. The slow burning grind and push that threatens to unravel Castiel from the inside out. Dean, so soft and fragile and breathless with want underneath him.

"Cas, please, let me, Cas." Dean's beautiful like this, bruised and breakable and perfect. And Castiel is broken, over and over in place of him.

"No," Castiel says. There's a catch in his voice too, a dark edge of roughness. "You will learn this lesson."

Dean grunts shaky arousal, wrists flexing, pulling and then relaxing on a breathless impatient whine.

Castiel pushes with a knee, leaves a space to push into, over and over, listening to the low, short, desperate sounds Dean makes. Listens to him break for him. Just for him and no one else.

"Cas, fuck, Cas." Dean's voice tatters at the edges, turns into a stunned, lost noise as he finds his release in a series of gasping, hard shudders. He comes, helplessly, under the shift and push of Castiel's hips, groaning and cursing and breathing hot flares of breath against Castiel's face. There's a slow relaxation into bliss, then a tremble when Castiel pushes in harder, more insistent, while he reaches for his own edge. That jagged overwhelming and completely human moment where his body tightens and then falls outwards. He stills and lets it happen. He lets himself fall, presses himself down and in. He makes a low, helpless noise of pleasure into the vulnerable curve of Dean's neck, mouth open against the warmth of his throat, and lets it take him.

It leaves him weak and hollow and somehow both less and more than he was before.

A noise, soft, hungry, makes him lift his head.

Dean is kissing him, a messy push of teeth and tongue that Castiel takes, hands slipping free from Dean's sweat-damp wrists to hold his jaw, to cradle it like it's made of glass and kiss him until his heart stops thundering inside his chest. Until Dean's breathing apologies and promises and hard words of love into his mouth.

Castiel keeps every one of them.

  



End file.
